[In some ways they'd barely been apart. Their lives had been woven together for so many years now; every day spent under the bright star tethered to that singular purpose. It was a long life, a long love spent together. They'd raised a child and one another, through thick and thin to death they did part. It was such a sticking point, an arrow shot in the dark that Eliot could never have fathomed in a million years when he was this young and king of Brakebills.

Now, he held the lithe and youthful body of the old man he knew and loved. The man who'd taken him apart and put him together, who'd eaten through his soul and wound himself so inexplicably tightly with Eliot that the old man, in this youthful body hardly knew what to do now that they were here struggling against the force of water to hold onto one another. Missing didn't do favor to how he felt. It was different altogether.

Eliot ran his fingers along Quentin's sides, and then down along his back, over the slope of his ass. He didn't need the glittering dust from the butterflies, but there was a heat that scored his body with a drilling need. It'd never stopped, but now it fought fiercesly against his rationale. Beating as steadily as the wings that dusted his limbs. ]

I have missed you too, my love, my soul. I need you though, I need you so fucking much. Now. It's as if this dust, this magic has given me no choice.

[Reaching around Quentin's lovely form, Eliot wrapped his fingers against the magician's dick, and wet his lips with a delightful grin as he touched his life partner's cock, pulling it into bloom, dragging it up and fully awake in his hand with a quiet moan. ]

Gods, I will never tired of touching you like this.